In Our Bedroom After the War
by snapmagic
Summary: Remus/Sirius. Slash. "It's not you, it's me."


**_In Our Bedroom After the War._**

_A/N: RemusxSirius. Slash. Post-Azkaban. Rated R. Inspired by the album by Stars._

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**Prologue.**

"_Oh the blood and the treasure and the loosing it all. The time that we wasted and the place where we fall. Will we wake in the morning and know what is was for, up in our bedrooms after the war?"_

- -

"It's not you."

Sirius tapped an impatient thumb against the mahogany corner of the table; waiting for the inevitable completion of the sentence; the words he _knew_ Remus would utter. Because Remus had used them plenty of times before.

"It's me."

Uninterested, Sirius offered a slight "Hmm" before turning away and scratching at some sort of strange dark stain on the brown surface. Remus was pacing, as he generally was in these sort of conversations, which occurred far too often for comfort or certainty; or to be taken remotely seriously at all, for that matter.

"It's a matter of safety. And I just don't think that, you know. With the. With the everything going on. It's not really wise; not really _appropriate, _if you know what I mean." Remus stopped and scratched behind his ear, now looking directly at the taller man, sitting atop the desk, who was distracted and muttering.

"No, I quite fucking don't." Sirius looked up, raising his voice slightly. "I never have any fucking idea what you're talking about these days."

Remus didn't flush, not ever, but in the dim lamplight, Sirius could see the slightest splotches of color spreading across his cheeks as he pursed his lips. "There's no need to be so vulgar."

"It's not vulgar. It's me being fucking honest-"

"Sirius." Remus gave the impression of speaking to someone ill, someone old and ailing; someone pitiable who didn't understand. "I don't think-"

"See, this is honesty, right here. When did you get so organized? I mean, I guess you always were. But when did you get so annoying about it?"

The color in Remus' cheeks deepened, ever so slightly, and he shifted from one foot to another in a nervous, neurotic kind of way that Sirius hadn't been able to bear witness to in over thirteen years. And which he missed, strangely enough. Fidgeting. Twitching. Tics. These were the things that make the western hemisphere of his chest tighten and swell, his throat close up. That kept him wanting, needing-

"I'm not sure what you mean," Remus breathes, pinching at his temple, "but I'd really prefer if you would listen for, for six seconds, please, Sirius-"

"Moony," Sirius began, hopping from the desk and striding toward a flustered Remus, knowing full well the outdated nickname would aggravate the werewolf. "We only have room for one loony here, and I think I've more than well claimed that position." He paused, and then added with a smirk, "Among other positions."

"Indeed; the positions of obnoxious fifteen year old boy and the teller of awful jokes."

"Ah, yes, those too. But my point is that if you really are so delusional to think that you'll get rid of me with a well-crafted speech, given diplomatically, I must admit-"

"-Thank you."

"You're welcome. But given without much heart, really."

"You didn't think so?" Remus is speaking in hushed bursts through his teeth, fighting back a grin, and Sirius', whose has brought their noses ever-so-closely to touching, now drops his own voice to a whisper as well. "I thought it was lovely, actually. One of my best."

"No. Terribly sorry. You can't lie, Moony, not to me, anyway. Should've known that one."

"I can too lie to you. Do you remember the time in fifth year I pretended I didn't know what happened to your collection of limited edition Ukrainian Firewhiskey bottles? Accidentally knocked them over one morning when looking for a shirt you borrowed from me."

"You- ? That was you?"

"Mm-hm."

"Merlin, I had forgotten about that."

"I knew you'd practically have an aneurysm if I told you."

"A what?"

"Muggle terminology. Don't worry about it." Remus found that not only had he been quite enamored with Sirius' lips for the vast majority of their conversation, but he had also completely forgotten what they were talking about in the first place. He had planned on pulling away and launching into a pre-planned monologue on the dangers of being involved with a werewolf, especially during the war, and especially when Sirius himself was a wanted criminal; but somehow Sirius' arms were wound tightly around his waist, and Remus found himself quite unable to breathe or think, save for a slight: "What were we talking about?"

"Positions. Speeches."

"Oh, that's right. Sirius, we really shouldn't-" He stopped, considering his words carefully. "I mean, the risk we're running by-"

"It's going to take more than risk to get rid of me, darling."

"Did you just call me darling?"

"I thought sweetcakes would be pushing it a bit far."

Remus smiled despite himself; even let Sirius press into him, nipping at his neck. "Can we not worry about the future so fucking much?" he dragged a single kiss all the way along Remus' collar, dipping underneath and sliding wetly to his collarbone. Remus shivered. "We've got here and now, and that's that."

"But-"

"Shh. Methinks the Moony doth protest too much."

"But logically speaking-"

"Okay, okay." Sirius pulled upwards, to hold Remus' face in his hands as he locked their eyes together. "I get it. We might be found out tomorrow. We might be taken hostage, or carted off to prison, or tortured, or killed. Or worse, separated. Again. Anything. Anything could happen tomorrow. But I'm not going to sit around and let a perfectly good moment go to waste because we're so terrified of what's going to happen in the next one. We're together. Alone together. And we. I dunno. We should be thankful and all.

You're the most important person in my life, you know. And I'm not just. Saying that. I mean it, Moony. I only want to be right here with you, even if it's just for this instant."

Remus was quite silent for a moment. "Well, that was quite poetic of you, Sirius."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"No, no. I just-" Remus looked away.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's silly."

"Tell me anyway," Sirius murmured, undoing the top button of Remus' shirt with only his teeth, which pressed hungrily at the skin underneath before working on the next one down. "I couldn't even count the number of times you've gotten me to say something stupid."

Remus smirked, winding his fingers into Sirius' hair. "I suppose that's true."

"Oh, very funny. Just tell me."

"I…I don't know if I can put it into words."

"Try."

"Well. I guess it just kind of reminds me of- It feels like everything is- Uhm-"

"Is what?"

"Uh- Ah- Sirius, even you have to admit it's difficult to form coherent sentences when you've got someone unzipping your pants with their teeth."

"Oh, this old trick? Ha. It's a natural talent."

"Yes, erm, that it is."

"And you better believe you're lucky. Now keep talking. I could make it worse for you."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." Remus bit at his lower lip. "It's, uh. It's almost like being back at school. Being young again. When things weren't so worrisome and dull all the time. When we had fun."

"You never had fun. It was the one word you didn't know the definition of."

"Shut up, you," Remus mutters, suddenly laughing in a way he doesn't think he's laughed in years; a joy that's more real, more organic than anything he imagined he could conjure up. "Things were different back then; and I didn't know what plenty of things meant, things more serious than fun. I- No, _we _had no idea how large the world was. In some strange way, I want to go back to that. To not knowing and being okay with not knowing." Remus' pants were now down around his knees, and Sirius was placing kisses across the pale skin there. "Because that- That means-"

"Yes?" Sirius looked upwards right as Remus looked down, and their eyes met once more.

"That means- discovery."

And that was all he had to say, because Sirius understood, hands on Remus' stomach as he brought himself up to full height to kiss Remus long and hard on the lips. Remus let him push, backwards, a steady easing of hips and thighs to the bed, until Remus was on his back, dizzily staring up at Sirius, who was looming above him, resting on his elbows.

This was where things usually stopped. A pattern had emerged in the three months they had been together, in the three months since Sirius had come back. First, Remus would embarrassedly whisper a startled apology, and Sirius would sputter one in return _("No, no, it's okay-") _so they would fall asleep, tangled and awkward. Only sometimes -if the night was particularly pulling; or if Sirius suddenly wanted to forget; or Remus wanted to remembered; or if they both had had too much to drink- would they push past their primary indiscretion and carry out the act. Only if they could gauge the desire as being fiercer than usual, if it was a matter of need, not want.

Running his hands over Remus' bare body, Sirius knew that tonight went beyond need; if there was such a thing. This was devastation, this was needing so bad it burned his lungs. Remus made a strange growling noise in his throat, and pulled Sirius down by his own shirt-collar to roughly crush their lips together.

It had been far too long, Sirius thought, tasted Remus' antique, peppermint familiarity, since anything had felt this natural. _It's like this, like that. _Sirius couldn't remember the last time he had been able to kiss Remus' chest, Remus' sharp intake of breath timed just right, just like he had expected. It was a rhythm they had lost but newly rediscovered, hearts beating in time, fingertips dragging out notes of tenderness, gentle measures. One, two. One, two.

Sirius told himself he wasn't going to look down as he slid off the remainder of Remus' shirt still knotted around his arms, but he found himself doing so anyway. The white marks, the stretch and tug of so many of them, woven together in crosses, in arcs. Sometimes alone, sometimes in duos or trios. His eyes fell on one that pulled from Remus' shoulder all the way down to his hip, shallow and still slightly red, not quite healed.

Sirius traced the full length of the scar with his fingertip, swallowing back the sudden swarm of regret, the pain of not being able to be there for this one, for that one, for so many of them. He looked up at Remus, eyes thick with tears and apologies, who simply shook his head in reply, shutting his eyes. _Not now. It's not the time. Now's the time for-_

When he opened his eyes once more, Sirius saw fear etched there. This time was different, they both knew. This time was slower, deeper, languid and intimate. For all the times that he had lay across Remus' body, Sirius suddenly felt as though he had never been closer. He crawled forward, on hands and knees, until he could whisper gently into Remus' ear.

"Are you sure you want to do this, sweetcakes?"

Feeling Remus grinning into his own neck, he already knew the answer.

"Only if you call me that again."

- -

_Can haz reviews?_


End file.
